


you have everything and you have so much of it

by lesbianmelodrama



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, F/F, M/M, Mad Men AU, Mental Health Issues, also dee is big gay in the background, and dee dennis and charlie all work for frank at franks fluids at somepoint in the story, charlie and frank meet for the first time, frank becomes redeemable in the end hopefully, mac and dennis are married and very much in love but are driven apart by nuclear marriage roles, mac goes insane bc he didnt go to school for being a house husband
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 08:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16512545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianmelodrama/pseuds/lesbianmelodrama
Summary: this was originally supposed to be a mad men au but i guess it turned into a lot more than that!!this is my first fic so i really hope that you enjoyed it <3come and scream with me in hell (tumblr) https://deesinthehouse.tumblr.com/





	you have everything and you have so much of it

Dee had been spreading rumours around the office all day, Dennis could tell because her awful perfume had blanketed the entire floor instead of staying in her usual path from the elevator to her office. Her assistant Martha, who usually followed her around like a puppy dog all day sat instead firmly glued to her seat with a glazed over look in her eyes. Something was off today, Dennis could tell. He’d picked the wrong day to come into work late.

Dennis had been sitting in his office staring numbly at spreadsheets for roughly an hour before Dee sauntered in, her makeup smudged and her hair a mess - even more so than usual. Even so, she was practically bouncing, filled no doubt with the importance of whatever piece of useless office gossip she had managed to obtain. 

“Have you heard?” She inquired, proving Dennis’ hypothesis; he truly did know his sister. The corners of her mouth pulled up into a self-important smirk, filling Dennis with revulsion. Dennis blinked slowly in frustration and pushed his seat away from his desk, turning his head to face her finally.

“Heard what Dee? You know I don’t have time to listen to your petty rambl-”

“Frank is promoting somebody to Senior Executive Vice President.”

“Dee, I said I don’t have time for your - wait woah. Senior Executive Vice President?” This was news indeed - for once in her life Dee actually had something useful to tell him, though her snarky tone left much to be desired.

“Yup, and guess who has two thumbs and is the frontrunner for this promotion? This gal!” She waggled her giant thumbs haphazardly, and Dennis forced himself to ignore her god awful bragging and vile gestures.

“You? Senior Executive Vice President? Of Frank’s Fluids?” He broke out into a self-confident laugh. “Doesn’t seem very likely.”

Dee’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why not? I know this business inside out, I am JUST as good of a negotiator as you are, and I have the qualifications!” She protested, jutting her chin out in defiance. Dennis sighed.

“Out of the two of us, WHO is Frank’s right hand man, his drinking buddy? I also have the qualifications, and I think you’ll find that looks are a key component of negotiations, they like to have something nice to look at when they are making a deal, and quite frankly you just aren’t up to much in that department.” The childlike hope drained all at once from Dee’s face then, and she stepped back as if to leave the conversation.

“Okay well I’m not the one who was late to work this morning.” Dee retorted, turning on her heel out of his office at last. As the door slammed, a waft of her perfume blew directly into Dennis’ face. He couldn’t understand why she got this angry so quickly, usually it took hours of gradual chipping away intensely at her psyche to get her this mad. But then it dawned on him; she had obviously had a fight with the assistant she’d been banging.

Dee wasn’t like Dennis. Of course, they were twins and they did have their similarities but the way they both made their way through life was entirely different. She was strictly homosexual, the same as him, but she chose to hide it. Dennis wasn’t sure why because using her feminine charm when with clients obviously wouldn’t work, they were all intimidated by her confidence and her large frame and her looks were subpar at best. No, it was more likely because she was scared of what their mother would think, and of what Frank would think. She had been scared her whole life of being herself, instead forcing herself into a mould of her own creation, entering pageants and attempting desperately to paint herself as a womanly, submissive creature when really she was nothing of the sort. It was only when she was employed by Frank that she began to reject the feminine standards she had held herself to her whole life, and in Dennis’ opinion she was far better off for it. She had a loud mouth and plenty of strength and cunning to back it up, and though she would never be ‘one of the guys’, Frank treated her as close to that as he was able to in these times.

As much as Dennis hated to admit it, Dee was good at her job, good at strong-arming clients into buying up as much of whatever disgusting product Frank was selling at the moment. She did deserve that promotion. Truth be told, Dennis didn’t fully understand himself why he felt it necessary to put Dee down at any opportunity. There had always been a wedge between them, a wall that was only briefly pulled down in times of crisis. They both knew when it was time to draw a truce, a type of eye contact known only to them that appeared when their Mother’s knuckles began to grow white from gripping her wine glass so tightly. Funny that it was their Mother that drove them apart but it was their Mother that drew them together in these brief moments.

Dennis snapped himself back to reality when he found himself growing sentimental about Dee; it wouldn’t do to grow too fond of her, didn’t do to reminisce about their childhood lest he remember the parts he purposely tried to forget. Besides, he wanted that promotion. He would take over this company when Frank finally croaked if it was the last thing he did.

At this thought, he stood up abruptly, buttoned his suit jacket and strode, calm and collected, out of his office, alerting his secretary that he would be with Frank, as if she would remember, the stupid cow. Upon entering Frank’s office, Frank jolted awake in his seat and beamed at him. Dennis chose to ignore the patches of drool that had gathered on the fabric of Frank’s left shoulder, pushing the violent image of the bacteria that would be multiplying rapidly in those pools to the back of his mind. Instead he took a seat across from Frank and smiled expectantly at him. 

“I’m sure you’re aware that rumours of somebody being promoted to Senior Executive Vice President have been spreading like wildfire around this office?” He inquired in an accusatory tone; this was not the type of thing that the people at lower levels of this office should know about, and certainly not the type of thing that should have worked its way around to Dee.

Frank smiled knowingly as he downed the dregs of whiskey in what was indubitably his fourth or fifth glass of the day. “So you’re here to beg me for the promotion?” He implored. “You don’t need to be doing that. I don’t want to talk about work at all today, what’s say we discuss the large-breasted whore that I screwed last night instead huh?”

Typical. It was just like Frank to dodge the question, but Dennis was a man on a mission. “Frank, I’m serious. You shouldn’t be spreading rumours like that even if they are true, and what’s more I need to know what my future is at this firm! I have a husband at home you know!”

“You know that I know damn well that you have a goddamn husband at home you nancy.” Frank sneered. “I’ve half a mind to give Dee that promotion! She wasn’t late into work because she was banging her husband because she doesn’t have one! And neither should you, marriage is a scam and you know it.” Dennis began to worry now that he had gone too far, he knew not to mention marriage around Frank - any intimation of domesticity made him irate. He gulped, feeling the familiar chill of sweat forming on his brow.

“Now Dennis, as Executive Vice President of Worldwide Distribution at Frank’s Fluids, your fate is important to me.” Frank beamed down at him, the glint in his eye that only surfaced when he was exploiting somebody was well and truly shining. Dennis gulped, crossing his legs in what he hoped was a masculine and intimidating gesture. “More importantly,” Frank continued, “the fate of the company should be important to you. You know that you are my right hand man, my drinking buddy; don’t let that fool you into thinking that I will give firing you a second thought should the opportunity present itself. Dee, while irritating, is a perfectly good candidate for Senior Executive Vice President.” Frank began to hum to himself as he toyed with a golden horse that sat on his desk. Dennis pulled at the collar of his suddenly too tight shirt, worried that Dee would suddenly be able to boss him around, worried that Frank would suddenly decide to cut the fat of the company and go on a firing rampage, worried there’d be no money left for him and Mac. 

“But I’d never let her take that position!” Frank cackled, his hands clasped together with glee. Dennis breathed a sigh of relief; Frank toying with his emotions is better than him losing his job he supposed. “Stupid bird! If anybody’s getting fired it’s her! Ha!” Dennis laughed along, he always did enjoy making fun of his sister. He shoved the thought of his comrade in arms being fired to the back of his mind.

Frank strode across the room, his disproportionate arms clothed in only the finest pinstriped linen swinging like clock hands against his tiny body. It was a hilarious sight, a short bald man commanding an entire top floor office, reprimanding everyone in his path, his thick accent and peculiar mannerisms making it all the more comical. He looked like a lifesize caricature, straight out of a slapstick sketch. This was the side of him that charmed and greased the palms of potential buyers, that took Japanese businessmen out to dinner and treated them to expensive hookers, showed people a good time and then took what he wanted, all while they were enamoured by his strange appearance and raunchy wit.

Dennis had to admit, in a way he admired Frank. This was a man that knew in and out the art of the deal, a man that had been shamelessly building a business empire on the shaky foundations of a money-laundering scheme and beverages whose effects range from leaving a bad taste in your mouth to making you vomit uncontrollably since the seventies.

It was because he admired Frank that he didn’t flinch as Frank sauntered back towards him, glass of bourbon in hand and half-empty bottle in tow. He began to mentally brace himself for a night of acting as his wingman, smiling glibly at every atrocious thing that came from Frank’s mouth: he did this every week, sometimes more.

“What say we go out and celebrate this occasion, huh?” Frank petitioned as soon as they had drained the bottle of bourbon. Dennis closed his eyes briefly and then plastered a smile on his face and made exclamations of approval, enthusiasm even. He knew how to make Frank feel good about himself, clapping his hands in manufactured excitement and ushering Frank out of the building. 

By the time they made it to the bars Dennis already felt the fire of the bourbon in his belly, stirring and churning away and making the walls of his stomach vibrate with hunger as his organs are reminded that they need nourishment. He had always preferred the bars to the stashed away bottles of scotch and bourbon in Frank’s stuffy office, always smelling vaguely of ham and sweat, reminding him of the disgusting human condition. He could order clear alcohol at the bars, pure dry spirits with no fat or sugar attached, no unnecessary components. Completely refined. Like Dennis. Frank had stopped calling him a woman for ordering clear alcohol years ago anyways; he knew of far more ways to make fun of his feminine side now after all this time.

At first Frank never liked going drinking with Dennis, grumbling that all the real men had left the office and that he was the only one left. The truth of the matter was that Dennis was the only one who could tolerate one-on-one conversation with Frank for more than an hour. It was much less a conversation, rather listening to Frank’s rants about the best accompaniment to go with crab or whatever disgusting food related issue he was on about that week - it seemed to Dennis that there was not a man on earth more obsessed with food than Frank.

However, Frank’s key obsession was not with food, but rather with women. Not the classy, taunting kind; Frank knew better than to aim there now; his fascination was with the cheap hookers and slutty girls with no reservations when it came to sexual experimentation that hung out in shady bars on the southside of Philly.

Despite Frank’s initial reservations, they found that they worked well as a team; there was always some girl in each bar they went to that had come with her gay best friend, and Dennis could always lazily make conversation with the guy before making his graceful exit at the end of the night. He made it his key principle to never bang these men; Dennis used to question why any gay guy would want to make himself the pet of a straight girl, but having listened to enough of these sorry fuckers he knew that not one of them had the brains they were born with - they were satisfied with being a living stereotype if it meant that even one straight person adored them. Dennis didn’t care for straight people and had abandoned all hope of a normal friendship with one years ago.

It was during these tedious conversations whilst Frank presumably engaged in a variety of obscene food-related sexual activities in bathrooms and dumpsters, soiling his perfectly ironed shirts with the stains of the city’s underbelly, that Dennis often let his mind wander. He thought about Mac during these times, thought about whether he could see the stars from their suburban mansion or whether the sky was stained the same ugly shade of mucky orange there as it was in the city. By the time Dennis got home he was usually too tired to check.

Dennis knew that Mac waited up for him on these nights; he often came home to Mac asleep on the sofa, reality TV humming quietly as he slept. Dennis would put a blanket on him when he came home, he knew better than to try and lift him upstairs now. Other times, he would pull into the driveway to see Mac scamper upstairs and flick off the bedroom light. He’d come into their bedroom to find him pretending to be asleep, but he knew from the heavy breathing and having seen him run there that he was awake - Mac couldn’t trick anybody, let alone Dennis. He often envied Mac for being able to wear his heart on his sleeve like that. Dennis wished he didn’t have secrets to keep, wished he could stumble blindly through life without worrying about who thought what about him. 

Mac was worried about Dennis, he knew that, but he just wished that Mac would get on with his own life instead of constantly fretting over him. He knew that nights out with Frank were obligatory - keep your friends close but your bosses closer - and he knew that sometimes coming home late was unavoidable. Still, it was sweet how much Mac cared.

The twink sitting across from Dennis began to ramble about his dream of opening up a nail salon, listing off the most inane names for his pre-doomed business. Finger Fantasy? What an idiot. Dennis’ eyes began to droop with exhaustion and he pinned his hopes on Frank reappearing from the men’s bathroom with the cheap whore he had slipped in there with any minute. As soon as he did reappear, glasses skewed on his face and hair sticking out in every direction, the girl in a similar state stumbling after him, Dennis alerted him that it was time for him to go home, despite protests from the twink. As Dennis sidled his way through the crowd and out of the bar the twink turned to his friend with a look of disgust and disappointment on his face.

“He was a washed up old prick anyways, could barely listen to what I was saying, what an asshole...”

Dennis slid out of the bar and onto the street. The night air was peculiarly warm for October, but Dennis didn’t mind it. A pleasant breeze swept gently over his curls, threatening to close his eyelids too, but Dennis quickly snapped back into reality and summoned a nearby cab. The drive home was usually never pleasant, the highway crammed with cars all full of frustrated people. It drove him to his wits end, so much so that he was often glad to be inebriated so that he would have to take a cab. The cab was warm and humid, almost as if Frank and one of his girls had been on one of their escapades in there right before him, but he didn’t really mind that either. Not when he was this tired.

He let himself drift, watching the other cars go by as his driver drove as slowly as humanly possible, no doubt in order to overcharge him for the ride. Any time these fools saw a man in a suit they attempted to scam them. There was something fascinating about the freeway at night, watching the streetlamps pass over his head and the car headlights flash at intervals. At times like this it seemed to Dennis that the city’s heart was beating its own circadian rhythm, the light that flowed through each street illuminating the night the pulsing blood. Thump. Thump. Dennis’ heart tried desperately to match the beat that everyone else seemed to live by, but he felt his palms turn clammy and his heartbeat race every time he thought too much. 

 _You’re faking it. This life that you’ve built isn’t even yours._ His thoughts filled his brain like helium filling a balloon, his head becoming lighter, lighter. He urged to burst through the roof of this foul-smelling taxi, to hover over the city like a god and feel its pulse. He wished he could see the bigger picture, see everything come together and fall apart each night in the ways it always did. He wished his head would just burst, just explode and get it over with. He reached a hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, feeling his cufflink slide across his thin wrist - a reminder of Mac - and pulled out an orange pill bottle. A token of his own insanity.  

He weighed the decision in his hand, bouncing it up and down and letting the little pills rattle. How could something so small, and so insignificant, help him? He felt his stomach rumble, his drunk body no longer able to discipline itself to the fullest extent. This was what he hated about being this drunk, once your mind goes, your body follows. The disparity between the state of his body (perfect, god-like) and the state of his mind was always something he was able to maintain. If he kept the two separate he would preserve his youthful looks without letting them become tarnished by the thoughts that raced through his mind, but after a few too many shots of vodka his mind started to slow down, his body finally catching up and demanding that it be indulged.

Dennis gently placed the suddenly leaden bottle back inside his silk inner pocket. He was not sick, he was just drunk. He had never trusted doctors, their opinions always differed from his own. He preferred to trust his own judgement in these matters, to let the person who knows him best decide on his medicine, his dosage, what he put into his own body. He made sure to throw out the right number of pills each day he decided he didn’t need them in case Mac worried.

The concentration of cars around him thinned out slowly and the driver was able to go ever more smoothly, even in spite of his apparent urge to swindle his customers. He was being dragged away from the heart of the city, pulled by the intoxicating stability of life with Mac back down to earth, to the suburbs. He felt the tug of his collar around his neck, and reached up to quickly unbutton his top button so that he could breathe again. Suddenly he was feeling suffocated in the back of this cab, the malodorous stench all at once too much for him to bear. He was itching to tear his constrictive clothes from his body, but settled with frantically stripping off his jacket and loosening his tie. 

As the taxi left the freeway Dennis rolled down the window in the hopes of getting some fresh air, but the familiar hot floral fragrance of the suburbs swept into the cab. He slumped into his seat, energy coursing through his veins.

He knew how this looked, a drunk and clearly unhinged mess of a man returning home late at night to his worried husband, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything other than getting out of the cab as quickly as possible. His breathing quickened again as he thought of the agony of having to tiptoe around Mac that night and the next morning, careful not to bring up any conversation topics (of which there were many) that could possibly incite Mac’s rage.

Could this cab driver take any longer? Why was everybody around him so incompetent? Could they not see that he would have done anything to be safely in bed with Mac’s arm wrapped around his waist? 

Dennis resented Frank for making him feel this way every single week. _It’s part of the job_ , Frank would say, _Who else am I supposed to drink with?_

Dennis wanted to be at home. Not in the suburbs, in this safe, friendly neighbourhood; in their old apartment in the middle of the city, before Dennis made it big in the company, back when Mac still worked as a busboy in a restaurant, back when they didn’t have to be anything else but young. They made it work back then, going to bars and restaurants together every week, screwing each others’ brains out, working until they dropped and then getting right back up to do it over again. They were so busy that they didn’t have time to think. They were free, they were alive and they were so, so ridiculously happy. Funny how marriage stops things from working the way that they used to. 

The cab finally turned into their cul-de-sac. Dennis knew this without looking, knew the familiar twists and turns that meant he was home. As the taxi came to a standstill Dennis stepped out of the door, his head suddenly spinning. He was drunker than he thought he was. He shoved two twenties into the meaty hand of the cab driver, muttering a perfunctory “Keep the change”. Asshole. For a brief moment paranoia overtook Dennis as he began to worry about the germs from cheap hoagies and never washing his hands that could be festering in the palm of this jabroni, but he obstinately shook it off and continued through his and Mac’s idyllic front garden to the door. 

From the lights on in the windows at the front of the house, Dennis knew that Mac had fallen asleep in front of the television. He tried to be as quiet as possible, entering the house and slipping his shoes off at the door. Mac always insisted they be a shoes-off household to maintain a degree of class (although what did he know about class?). He made his way through the foyer, wincing as the floorboards creaked, and he began to well up as he saw a now-cold plate of Mac’s famous mac and cheese waiting for him at the dining room table, place set and everything. He tipped it carefully into the trash can, covering it up gingerly with other trash so that Mac would think he ate, and set the plate and cutlery beside the sink.

Now he tiptoed into the living room, heart melting when he saw Mac’s face, peaceful in sleep, painted blue by the light of the TV. Dennis swung his leg over Mac’s curled up body spontaneously, setting it down on the sofa on the other side of Mac, and bent over him so that his face hung over Mac’s. He pressed a gentle kiss to Mac’s lips, a foolish attempt to wake Mac up so that they could be together for even a little bit.

Dennis felt now more than ever the looming threat of another day of work, commuting into the city as the sun rose and ignoring the mind-numbing tiredness that consumed him. He would have to take another taxi the next morning.

As Dennis pulled his face away from his husband’s, he felt Mac stir underneath him, blinking at being woken up but smiling gently and reaching up to pull Dennis closer to him when he realised where he was. This was where Dennis wanted to be, the familiar smell of Mac’s shampoo and their brand of laundry detergent that engulfed him when Mac put his arm around him making him forget that he existed anywhere else. Mac was a fixed point in his life, a reassurance that the more things change, the more they stay the same. He couldn’t imagine a life without him.

Mac’s hand curved in the most perfect way around Dennis’ face, his eyes filled with a tired sort of love, but love nonetheless. He drew Dennis in for another kiss, soft and sweet. Dennis attempted to savour the moment and deepen the kiss but in the same moment he felt Mac frown against him and pull away. Mac looked again into Dennis’ eyes, this time reproachful. Dennis no longer felt safe.  

“You’ve been drinking.”

Dennis lowered his eyes in shame, or something like shame.

“You’ve been out all night drinking and now you want to come home and kiss me? Kiss and make it better right?” Mac was getting worked up, Dennis could feel the raw anger that now coursed through Mac, and he knew the telltale signs of a tantrum coming up. Mac never used to be this childish. Mac shoved Dennis off of him and stood up, a look of overwhelming weariness passing over his face, obscuring his beautiful features.

“Mac wait-” Dennis attempted to stop Mac from leaving, put his hand on his shoulder and immediately felt the glare of Mac’s gaze fixating on it. Every point of contact between them in these moments felt like fire, burnt up both of them from the inside. They did this dance all the time, circling around each other, spitting insults back and forth that neither of them meant, but somehow hurt both of them more than if they did mean them.

There was so much love in this relationship, so much history that each time they fought was more painful than the last. 

Dennis wanted it to stop, wanted this ruthless cycle to just stop, and despite every corner of his mind screaming at him not to, he placed his other hand on Mac’s shoulder, rotating him so that they faced each other. Mac finally made eye contact with him again, something breaking inside of Dennis when he saw the sheer disappointment at what was happening here. He saw what this night could have been in Mac’s eyes, Dennis coming home early, them having a quiet dinner together, a comfortable silence, smiling as they met each other’s gaze across the table, the familiar taste of their usual middle of the road brand of red wine lulling them into a gentle rhythm. They could have had a wonderful evening. Dennis wanted them to have wonderful evenings.

A lump in Dennis’ throat made him suddenly incapable of saying anything to Mac, but he hoped and prayed that the look in his eyes would make Mac forgive him, even if he didn’t deserve to be forgiven. They had been standing like this for a while, Mac’s steadiness, or maybe soberness, keeping Dennis standing upright as they stared at each other, feeling so distant from the people they once were around each other. Mac was so quiet, just standing stock still as if he didn’t have any fight left. This was not a usual temper tantrum. 

 _I miss you,_ Dennis thought, even though they were together. When they were around each other he felt like a teenager, felt like he couldn't get close enough to Mac. He missed him when they were together and when they were apart. He missed them the way they used to be. _How did it get to be like this?_  

Craving the comfort of Mac’s lips and craving the simplicity of the way this late-night encounter began, Dennis leaned in and kissed Mac, more roughly this time, as if to jolt him back into his old self. He was met with nothing, Mac’s lips remained stubbornly unmoving as he kept his eyes open and refused to kiss Dennis back. Dennis yearned to undo whatever it was he had done to make Mac angry, if only he could remember what it was he had done?

When Dennis pulled away, his attempt at making amends having been in vain, Mac looked down at the ground again, refusing to even look at Dennis.

“You taste like alcohol. We should go to bed.”

Dennis knew immediately that this was not the good kind of going to bed. His head began to throb and his heart beat even more rapidly with the overwhelming guilt that consumed him when he remembered what he had done, what he always did. He remembered the flirtatious giggle of the twink from the bar as he asked question after question, keeping the poor man talking the whole time so that he still thought that they would screw at the end of the night. He couldn’t get the face of the damn twink out of his mind, tried desperately to banish the thought of the numerous guys in bars and on sidewalks that he had to talk to and sometimes kiss, tried to wave away the thought that he was cheating on Mac because he wasn’t and he would never. But he did. Dennis supposed he had cheated on Mac all those times and maybe Mac knew it. Mac probably suspected it. 

Dennis wished he hadn’t gotten drunk tonight. He wished he had told the bartender while Frank wasn’t looking to make all of his drinks virgin or performed some other feat that would have avoided him the trouble of being Frank’s companion. Mac was long gone by now, probably getting ready for bed and Dennis couldn’t move. He just stood and stared at the ground, turned into a statue by the unmistakable anguish of knowing that he could not undo what he had done, filled to the brim with rage at Frank and at the world for putting them in this position. 

Sure enough, Dennis heard the clink of Mac’s toothbrush being placed hesitantly into his glass and the flick of the light as Mac slunk back into the darkness of their room. It hurt how quiet he was, as if even now he was being considerate towards Dennis. Mac was the perfect husband. If only Dennis was anywhere near the same. 

Dennis padded up the stairs, his gut churning and brain grinding its gears and he couldn’t stop his thoughts from racing. He was confused more than anything, didn’t know why he had gone out tonight in the first place or couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember what had happened earlier that day at all in fact, tried to make a mental note to himself not to drink tomorrow. It was a good thing he had taken that cab or he would most definitely be dead in a ditch tonight, and maybe he ought to be. 

Dennis reached the landing, wriggled his feet in his socks on the scratchy standard carpet. He felt his head begin to spin again and knew he needed to be sitting or he might vomit. Shit. He shouldn’t have thought about vomiting because now the guilt and the alcohol and the hunger were pushing and shoving what little was in his belly around, threatening to make it disgorge. Dennis stumbled to the bathroom which was luckily close by and barely got his head over the sink before he was fully retching, his body desperately trying to get rid of the alcohol that was burning up his system. After what felt like days of his body heaving and shuddering and the hot, sour sick erupting from his throat he wiped his eyes and looked down at the contents of the sink. There were almost no solid lumps of food.

This was a good thing for Dennis, for two reasons, the first and most obvious being that he hadn’t eaten too much that day. The second reason was that he could quickly drain the sink of its contents before Mac came in to try and help. He could just say he was sick in the toilet and flushed it, and Mac wouldn’t worry. He promptly did just that and brushed his teeth, not wanting Mac to smell the vomit on him. He kept waiting and keeping an eye on the hallway just outside the bathroom to see when the bedroom light would spill out onto the landing and Mac would plod out to see whether Dennis needed any help.

Dennis finished his nightly routine to the best of his abilities, having sobered up significantly from vomiting just a few minutes before. He had applied his various moisturisers and lotions to keep his skin looking youthful and now stood in front of the mirror with nothing left to do but enter the bedroom and go to sleep. Mac still hadn’t reappeared so Dennis assumed that he had fallen asleep soon after he went to bed - but upon opening the bedroom door a fraction he saw Mac, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as if he were in a trance.

Mac had always insisted that Dennis sleep nearer the door in case they needed to get out in an emergency, and Dennis was finally feeling grateful for this because it meant he only had to take three steps with Mac still in his sight before lowering himself carefully into bed and rolling over to face the door.

He heard Mac’s breathing once he had settled down and wrapped the covers around himself, steady and unchanging even now. He wondered what thoughts were going through Mac’s mind as he lay there almost unblinking, all tense with his arms by his side as though he was trying to take up as little room as possible. Dennis wished that they hadn’t gone for the super king size mattress because he felt so far away from Mac, who had made himself so small. Though he was bothered by this, he felt himself becoming drowsy, maybe from the alcohol or maybe from the reassuring familiarity of his nighttime routine. He would have drifted off faster if Mac had wrapped himself around him like he usually did, but he was so perpetually exhausted that these days he fell sound asleep within ten minutes of his head hitting his pillow. 

He didn’t dream that night, but in those few minutes that they both lay there awake together Dennis and Mac were each thinking about the old days, about when they first got married.

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally supposed to be a mad men au but i guess it turned into a lot more than that!!  
> this is my first fic so i really hope that you enjoyed it <3
> 
> come and scream with me in hell (tumblr) https://deesinthehouse.tumblr.com/


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